You Will Eat Them
by rib
Summary: ...and think they're delicious no matter what I say. ChristopheKenny. Nonsensical as an appendix. Uhh. He says 'cock' once.


Title: You Will Eat Them

Author: Rib

Summary: And think they're delicious no matter what I say.

Rating: T

Pairings: ChristopheKenny

Disclaimer: Still no.

Notes: First lemons, now potatoes. No joke; I had mashed potatoes for dinner. Only mashed potatoes. My brother was so caught up making them, we forgot to make everything else. They were hella good though.

Kenny realized he was staring at waterstains on the ceiling. Not that this was an irregular occurence; it just meant that he was, once again, distracting himself from the fact that he wasn't having dinner. Yes, again. He rolled over on his mattress, groaning slightly. This was the fourth time that week he'd be going to bed without his supper. Fuck being poor.

"'Ey."

Kenny turned to his window, where a certain French mercenary was climbing in, slightly sweaty, his shovel on his back and a doggy bag in his hand. He was looking as a hot as slighty sweaty French mercenary climbing in through a window with a shovel and doggy bag could. "Hi, 'Tophe."

Ze Mole hardly looked at him, instead tossing the bag into his arms and heading for the house's tiny bathroom. Kenny pouted. He remembered the bag in his arms. The smell wafting from it made Kenny drool. He opened it cautiously (you ought to be, dating Christophe and all.) Mashed potatoes. Kenny sniffed. Lot's of pepper and butter. And.. rosemary? Wow; he felt like that rat from that movie-

"Gregory insisted 'e learn to cook today," a damp Christophe leaned against the doorway, a ratty towel around his neck. He made a disgusted noise. "'E made me try all of 'zem. 'Zat wuz 'ze only decent thing 'e could come it with, ze ass'ole."

Kenny smiled to himself. "Won't he be mad? You kinda stole this, didn't you...?"

Christophe waved a hand dismissively. "Meh. 'E wuz too tired to get 'imself to his bedroom. I 'ad to carry 'im zere. 'E won't mind." He pushed off his boots and lay down next to Kenny. "When wuz 'ze last time you ate, beetch?"

Kenny smiled, half-flattered at the -affectionate- nickname and half-nervously. "I, uh, had a-a piece of toast this morning," he turned to Christophe, who scowled darkly, as expected.

"Bullsheet," was all he said as he reached into one of his many pockets. Retrieving a spoon, he wiped it on the towel and grabbed the bag out of Kenny's hands. He scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes and held it out to the blonde. "Ah."

Kenny flushed slightly. Rarely was Christophe so sweet. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth. Now, seeing as hunger is the best chef, Kenny couldn't help but think that the potatoes were the best damn thing in the world. It was like heaven. Without the boobs. "Wow," he was saying as he chewed, "These aren't half-bad."

Christophe frowned. "'Zey taste like sheet."

Kenny pouted, swallowing. "Well, thanks." He snatched the bag of deliciousness away from the Frenchman. But before he could take the spoon as well, Christophe had held it above his head. Kenny had already dove for it and now ended up between Chritophe's legs. He sighed. "Agh-Hey. Pervert."

Christophe smirked, flicking the blonde's forehead. "You're ze one 'oo attacked me, you poverty-stricken 'ore."

Kenny hoisted himself out from between Chritophe's legs and threw the bag at his head. "Asshole." Then, he heard chuckling. Oh, the chuckling. Oh, no.

Christophe was on him faster than Kenny was on free gift coupons. "If you really don't like ze potatoes I can find something else for you to eat."

Kenny squirmed from under him. Oh, god damn it. Well damn; his hands were already in his pants? "'Tophe, I- No-Ah!-Hey, don't-! I'll have the-the potatoes-DAMNIT, CHRISTOPHE, I'LL HAVE THE DAMN POTATOES."

The mercenary stopped his undressing the blonde. He kissed his templed gently. "Good." He rolled off the boy and handed him the spoon.

Kenny huffed, sitting as far away on the mattress from Christophe as he possibly could. Which wasn't very far, actually. "You're so fucking stupid. First you flip on me for not eating, then you distract me from eating what you give me," he muttered begrudgingly.

"'Zat wasn't deestracting, mon cheri," Christophe crawled back to Kenny's side. "Shoving my cock in your mouth-'zat would be deestracting."

Kenny glared at him. "Fine. Whatever. Soon as I finish my taters."

Wow. That was undeniably disjointed inside my mind there.

Review anyway because Christophe would rather spend money on poor sluts than cigarettes. (That wouldn't convince me, but I hope it will you.)


End file.
